


The Heart in Exile

by drivingsideways



Series: A Pair of Swallows [1]
Category: Serenade of Peaceful Joy (TV), 孤城闭 | Held in the Lonely Castle (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Gen, Pining, spoilers for episodes 21-27
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: Zhang Maoze made a promise he intends to keep.Cao Danshu won't let him.
Relationships: Cao Danshu/Zhang Maoze
Series: A Pair of Swallows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726612
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Unclaimed

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of episode codas I hope to write for Cao Danshu, Maoze and their relationship. The series is still on air as I write these, so I don't know how it will end for these two, though I know there will most likely never be an explicit declaration of their feelings for each other. 
> 
> On the other hand: fuck the canon. 
> 
> I expect most of this series to be Gen rated- I might actually *expire * if canon gives me so much as a brush of fingers-but who knows? :) At this point, like the canon, it's just the exquisite agony of pining and uncertainty.

He has seen her only from a distance since that night in the palace.

The night that Concubine Zhang made such a shameless _display_ of herself, and the Emperor, once again, gave in to her.

The Empress had stood by quietly, wrapped in her dignity, like an armour, but Maoze had known- Maoze had seen- the places where the knife had gone through.

Not since that long-ago wedding night had he felt so helpless, so _hopeless_.

It had been a relief, then, when _guanjia_ had decided to visit Kunning Hall- an allowance that Maoze hadn’t been expecting, not really, when he’d presented himself to His Majesty, conveying by his stance that in _his_ opinion, _guanjia_ had one more task before he could rest.

But then, that hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped either; _guanjia_ had left infuriated, and then collapsed.

Maoze had wondered later whether he’d made a mistake by encouraging _guanjia_ go to Kunning Hall that night- but he had only hoped that seeing _guanjia_ would give her comfort.

Since then- it’s been a month now now- he’s been waiting for her to call him- for anything, _anything at all,_ he thinks, unable to sleep, tossing on the thin single bed in the chambers which he shares with Liaozi.

Liaozi is on duty tonight, so he has the room to himself; usually a night without Liaozi’s gentle snoring would have been a blessing after a long day, but tonight the silence only emphasizes the loudness of the thoughts rattling around in his head.

Sad thoughts, angry thoughts, _treasonous_ thoughts _._

Imperial heir?

_The only person rightfully worthy of bearing an imperial heir was imprisoned in a lonely palace, while a woman not worthy to kiss the hem of her robe sat in the royal lap—_

He sits up abruptly; sleep will not come tonight.

He quickly puts on his official robes and shoves his feet into his boots.

The night air is warm, humid.

This summer has not been as bad as the one several years ago, but he’s barely stepped a few yards away from their chambers, and already his inner robes are clinging to his skin.

He does not take a lantern- he is too familiar with the ways in and out of this city to need to. Besides, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.

He makes his way quickly to his destination- a tiny garden beyond the imperial kitchens, forgotten by everyone, hidden as it is behind a wall.

He doesn’t know why it is so neglected and has been for all the years he’s been here.

He had tried to ask around about it- it didn’t even have a _name_ \- and received only blank stares in return.

_._

Maoze thinks of it as “the garden”; if pressed, he might have confessed that he thinks of it as _his_ garden.

Nobody comes here, nobody cares for it, and nobody remembers it. Yet, it survives here in the heart of the Forbidden City, a forgotten kingdom unto itself of grass, and weeds, and rotting wood. At one end, the leafy oak growing on the _other_ side of the wall spreads its branches over in sheltering, benign blessing.

Maoze doesn’t feel guilty about claiming it for his own.

After all, he will never do it aloud, there will be no ink and parchment to prove it.

But if he takes pleasure in the sweet scent of red roses, the delicate blush of the _mǔdān_ , and the riot of _dùjuān_ flowers in red and pink and white- in a patch that he’s cleared and tended to by himself, working in secret, in the nights- well, if he takes pleasure in the rewards of that toil- could he be blamed?

( _Yes, he could._

_For he has laid claim to what is not his._

_There is nothing in the world that Maoze is allowed claim as his own, including himself_.)

Tonight, though- tonight, he has no need to tend to it; it waits for him, quiet under the clear moon, as he pushes open the small, rotting wooden door that is the entrance, and bends himself almost double to let himself in.

He has often wondered if this garden was created for a child.

Perhaps the child had died young; perhaps, after that, it had been deemed inauspicious, better forgotten.

He has never been able to find proof for his surmises- the one time he had managed to sneak a look at the plans of the Forbidden City, he had noted, in some surprise, that the garden didn’t even feature in it.

It remains a mystery; that is part of its allure.

The knee-high grass rustles against his robes as he makes his way to the small wooden bench he has fashioned- nothing more than two logs tied together with a rope. The scent of roses is strong in the air.

He doesn’t sit on the bench- instead, he carefully takes off his boots, and lets his feet feel the dryness of the grass underneath, slightly prickly, before sinking down onto it, resting his back against the logs.

It’s so still tonight; as though the heavens themselves were holding their breath.

Maoze raises his eyes to the sky and lets himself exhale.

His hand drifts to his chest, a reflexive action, before he remembers that he’d buried the necklace, safe, along with a promise.

_Cao Danshu._

Out there, he could say her name aloud; inside this city, even here in this forgotten corner- surely some night bird would hear it, would carry the tale.

He exhales again, striving for calm, the sound as loud in this velvet silence as the banging of the drums at the gate.

He feels like an overripe peach; the lightest touch and he would burst out of his skin, the soft innards of him spilling out, exposing the hard stone core of his longing.

It’s been a month.

She has not called for him.

In the beginning he had told himself- he could control it.

What had he not learnt of the art of doing without?

What was it that he had told Liaozi that night?

Stay within the line.

_Stay within the line, so you are able to hold what is dear to you forever._

Of course, he had gleaned what information he could.

_Huanghou niang-niang had personally requested guanjia to bring back that loathsome Inspector Jia to see to Concubine Zhang’s comfort._

_Huanghou niang-niang had the imperial physicians visit Concubine Zhang daily- even when she threw a fit, only subsiding after the Emperor’s cajoling and extracting a promise from him that he would be present when the physician came to inspect her._

_Huanghou niang-niang had assigned three cooks in the Imperial Kitchen only to prepare whatever dishes Concubine Zhang might wish, at any time of day or night._

_Huanghou niang-niang slept late and woke early._

_Huanghou niang-niang had been insisting on a simpler diet than usual, stating that she did not have much appetite in this summer heat._

_Some people were saying that if Concubine Zhang produced an Imperial heir, she might not remain merely a concubine anymore._

_After all, not only had guanjia never stayed the night at Kunning Hall, neither had he ever invited huanghou to stay over at Funing Hall and look who was now in residence there._

_A matter of time, the whispers went, a mere matter of months._

Maoze was not fool enough to think there was any truth to the wilder speculations- he knew _guanjia_. He knew that whatever his feelings for Concubine Zhang, _guanjia_ knew that there was only one person who could fill the position of Empress so admirably. He was not going to set the court and nation by the ears just because of one wilful woman.

But _she_ would have heard the rumours too, and _she_ would be hurt by them.

He thinks of her lovely eyes, so warm and expressive, if one only dared to meet them.

He thinks of her weeping, “I do not want this anymore!”

How much more desperate might she feel _now_ , her pride and reputation being crushed underneath the feet of a man who—

He exhales shakily.

_No._

He should not even think it.

But he does anyway.

 _You do not deserve her,_ he says aloud (but softly, softly) , _you are not worthy of her._

But _he_ was the one in Cao Danshu’s heart and _he_ was the only one who could make her happy.

Maoze’s duty, his solemn promise meant that he would have to find a way to achieve that for her.

He hoped- he hoped that she trusted him- that she _knew_ he would always be there by her side, her ally and servant.

He had thought—

_Pingfu._

The way his name sounded in her lovely mouth, he—

He closes his eyes, shuddering, and lets his thoughts run amok.

When he opens them again, the moon has travelled some distance, now hanging low over the top of the palace roof, beautiful and distant.

Softly, he begins to recite-

_You had sent me not one sign from your exile --  
Till you came to me last night in a dream.  
Because I am always thinking of you,  
I wondered if it were really you,  
Venturing so long a journey.  
You came to me through the green of a forest,  
You disappeared by a shadowy fortress...._

_Yet out of the midmost mesh of your snare,  
How could you lift your wings and use them?_

_  
I woke, and the low moon's glimmer on a rafter  
Seemed to be your face, still floating in the air._

  
_There were waters to cross, they were wild and tossing;_   
_If you fell, there were dragons and river monsters._

She has not called to him, but he will go to her.

The air has acquired that peculiar stillness that warns of an incoming storm, he thinks, as he makes his way back under the deceptively clear sky.

Soon, it will burst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Poem quoted at the end "Seeing Li Bai in a Dream-1" by Du Fu translation from here: http://www.shigeku.org/xlib/lingshidao/hanshi/tang.htm


	2. Rubicon

The storm two days ago had mercifully brought the temperature down, and here, at the Lakeside Pavilion, it’s even cooler.

Danshu sighs in relief.

Even though today’s proposed expedition with Grand Princess Wei is for _someone else’s_ benefit, she can hope to find some pleasure and relief in it. The lake is beautiful, and Grand Princess Wei is always charming and witty- not to mention wise- so it will not be a hardship to spend some time with her.

This last month….

Maoze enters and bows, and she looks at him in some surprise.

“Pingfu has a matter to seek me for?” she says, giving him a small smile, before looking away.

She has not seen him in almost a month, not since- that night.

She could not have borne the understanding in his eyes- and worse- the pity.

These days, she is a creature held together by a frayed thread of pride and will.

Of course, Pingfu’s first words are concern for her health-and it’s a good enough excuse for the maid to run away to fetch a shawl.

When she leaves, she senses Pingfu approaching closer, though she doesn’t face him, _cannot._

But then he says _her_ name—

“What nonsense are you spouting?” she asks, sternly, her heart beginning to thud.

It’s unlike him to be so—

But he doesn’t retreat.

Instead, he comes closer, facing her so that she’s forced to meet his eyes.

And then- then- the words that are spilling out of his mouth, every single thing she’s been _hiding,_ in devastatingly accurate detail—

She slaps him.

_How dare he? How dare he?_

Something inside her is shattering as the thread of stubborn pride holding her together snaps entirely.

He freezes, his head still turned away from the force of her slap.

Her palm stings.

“You’ve gone mad. You _are_ mad” she bites out and turns her face away from him, chest heaving with the effort of staying in control.

He says nothing for a long minute.

She can feel his eyes on her face.

“Yes”

It’s said softly, but firmly, as though- as though- he didn’t _know_ that she could have him _killed_ for just this disrespect, as though he didn’t _care._

If anybody had witnessed this—

She turns to him and meets his gaze.

 _Don’t,_ she pleads with her eyes, _don’t cross the line in a way that I can’t protect you._

His face softens, and he takes a step back, and then another.

But he’s not done- and the things he’s saying- it’s as though a physician was probing with a sharp needle, digging into the wound, drawing out the pus that was festering within.

“ _Pingfu_ , please say no more” she begs.

She turns away, unwilling to let him see her break down completely.

He had always been the one to _see_ her, she thinks, he had always been the one by her side at her lowest, and she’d been _grateful,_ but today- today-

Her head bows and her knees feel unsteady, his soft voice washing over her as he speaks the unspeakable, sheds light on the darkness in her heart.

“I am indeed crazed” he’s saying, softly, “But I must tell you-may Your Highness treasure herself”.

 _How can I,_ she wants to scream at him, _how can I, when the man who is my everything cannot?_

“You’re the Empress” he reminds her, as though answering the unasked question, “the only one the people acknowledge as Mother of the Nation. Sooner or later, His Majesty will be yours, and only yours”.

She doesn’t turn toward him, and after a minute, she hears him leave.

At night, in the solitude of her wide bed with its silk sheets and red canopy, she tosses and turns, unable to sleep despite the draught she had drunk earlier.

She keeps coming back to it- the shock that he would dare to speak those words, the inexorable gentleness with which he had dismantled the armour she’d been shielding herself with.

Her palm tingles with the memory of the slap.

_He had shaken her out of her usual control, destroyed it entirely with just a few words._

Not even _guanjia_ had been able to do that.

But then- _guanjia_ had never _seen_ her, not really.

Or if he did- he didn’t like what he saw.

It seemed that no matter what she did, she could not please him.

But to Pingfu- she was transparent, like the most delicate silk gauze.

_And he treats you as gently, a voice whispers, he treats you like a treasure._

And she had gifted cruelty in return, she thinks.

She would have to find a way to apologize, even though she would have to make it clear that he could not- _must_ not-overstep in the same manner again.

She didn’t want to lose her only friend in the palace.

She waits a week before she summons him, on the pretext of some question about the arrangement with Huaiji and Master Cui for Huirou’s art classes.

She’s arranged it so that she’s in one of the southern pavilions, sheltered enough that they have some privacy, but public enough that it cannot cause comment.

He seems equally determined to stick to the rules and doesn’t make any attempt to lead the conversation down a more- friendly- path, even when she invites him to share some tea with her.

They stick to discussing palace personnel arrangements, and he answers her questions readily and politely, and doesn’t meet her gaze more than strictly necessary.

For some reason, it makes her feel wrong-footed.

She had even rehearsed the apology that she would make- that and the warning she needed to deliver.

But it seemed like it wouldn’t be needed.

Perhaps Pingfu himself had reconsidered the matter.

Perhaps he had realized that his- his _bias_ toward her could lead him to ruin and had decided to correct course before that happened.

She’s relieved, she tells herself, after he leaves.

She’s relieved that he spared her the awkwardness of bringing it up, of having to admonish him, however gently.

Now they can go back to being as they were.

They do not.

Before this, she might have invited him every now and again for a game of weiqi, or for tea, or simply to have a chat. Before this, he might have dropped in to convey a message that might have been left to any other eunuch in the palace.

Even after Princess Anshou is born and things have settled somewhat, he does not go out of his way to seek her out.

Huaiji tells her that Maoze shifu is busy with many things.

It was for the best.

Then, two months later, he sends Dong Qiuhe to her.

In his roundabout way- and perhaps she had not properly appreciated before then just how _sneakily_ _competent_ Maoze could be-he was trying to help her again.

And though the appreciation in _guanjia’s_ eyes as he’d looked at her had sent a warm feeling through her, the _means_ by which it was achieved troubled her.

It makes her uncomfortable enough that she confronts him.

“Why should we…” she queries, troubled, and is surprised when he draws back.

“How can I be included in the word “we” with Your Highness?” he says, evidently upset, as he keeps his gaze lowered. “His Majesty, Your Highness, in this world, you are pure and enlightened people of the world. As for me, be it arranging tasks in the imperial palace, or carrying out tasks for Your Highness that I deem needed, I have thought myself, as doing my duty as a eunuch. If Your Highness or His Majesty deem that I have overstepped, and you wish to punish me, I will have no grievance”.

 _Oh,_ she thinks, _oh._

_I have driven him away too._

It was for the best, she tells herself that night, as she takes a walk in the garden, late that night, unable to sleep.

For some reason, her mind goes back to that game of weiqi they had played, how he had lost to her, deliberately, and only smiled in his gentle way when she’d pointed it out.

She bites down on her lip, hard.

She should not encourage his foolishness, as she had done in the past.

It was just that, after these months when he had deliberately- for now it was clear that it _had_ been deliberate- stayed out of her orbit, when she’d realized that Qiuhe had been _his_ idea, it had been such a _relief_ to know- to _feel_ \- that she wasn’t _entirely_ alone in this forbidden city.

That there was still someone looking out for her, taking care of her.

It was true that He’er was a dear friend, like a younger sister, and the other ladies of the palace were all amiable and courteous, and she liked them all, but her position put a distance between them that made true friendship impossible.

As it did between herself and Pingfu, but _that_ was a distance that she’d- she’d come to think of as- mere formality- she realizes, her heart sinking.

She had been so concerned about _Pingfu_ crossing a line, that she hadn’t realized when she’d crossed it herself.

How _muddled_ I have become, she thinks, how far have I strayed from the path I should be on.

She should be grateful to Pingfu for – gently, as always- directing her once again to the right path.

At the Dragonboat festival competition, her heart leaps to her throat when she realizes that somehow, _guanjia_ had found out about Maoze hiring Dong Qiuhe. No doubt, _guanjia_ would infer that it was on her behest.

Afterward, she hears about Maoze being transferred from his duties in Funing Hall.

Distraught, she summons him.

“Pingfu” she says, and she doesn’t care whether her tone is _appropriate_ or not. “I fear that I have caused you harm”.

He looks at her in surprise, for a minute, and then says, quietly, “That would be impossible, Your Highness”.

She twists her hands in her sleeves.

“Was it because of Dong Qiuhe?” she asks, “Is that why _guanjia_ has—”

“No” he says, and then steps closer, expression turning more concerned. “Your Highness, has something happened with Dong Qiuhe?”

She shakes her head.

“I angered his Majesty with my thoughtlessness in the matter of Xia Song” he says quietly. “And I am grateful that he has not punished me for it as I deserve”.

“A useless promotion under a man who has no love for you” she says, bitterly, for she is _tired, tired_ of the rules. “Is that not punishment enough?”

He says softly, “That is the least of what I will regret”.

She swallows hard.

There will be no more impromptu visits, no more chances for tea and conversation.

“Will you play a game of weiqi with me now?” she says, abruptly.

He stares at her in surprise, and then nods his acquiescence.

“It will be my pleasure” he murmurs, and she sends for a board and some tea and snacks.

He plays to lose, but so does she.

At the end of it, they are both smiling, because it _is_ quite silly.

“No!” she exclaims, as he leans forward put a last piece on the board, a move that would definitely end the game in her favour. She reaches out to cover the spot with her hand.

Their fingers brush.

As their gazes tangle, she thinks, faintly, _I should move my hand._

She does not.

Neither does he.

“I will never let you lose” he says, softly, so softly.

It sounds like an oath made to a king, or a vow sworn in a temple, holy, sacred, _unbreakable_.

She closes her eyes.

His fingers move against hers, brushing them aside to place the stone, with a soft click.

When she opens her eyes, he’s still gazing at her, and the look in his eyes-

_Oh._

Slowly, he leans back, giving her space, but not dropping her gaze.

Words have deserted her entirely, she finds, and looks down at her hands, surprised to find them steady.

After a minute of silence, he says quietly, “I am sent to Yangzhou tomorrow, it will be some months before I am back”.

_You don’t have to send me away, she hears, you don’t have to worry that I will cause you trouble._

She says, softly.

“Pingfu”

“Your Highness?”

She looks up at him and takes a deep breath.

“When you come back, we will play once more”.

He smiles, and she thinks, she’s never seen him so- _happy_.

There’s something blooming in her chest as she looks at him, something green and tender sprouting in the dull, hardened earth.

Perhaps, with time and care, it would grow into a garden.


End file.
